I wonder what you would think of me
by ajm218
Summary: Journal entry from Phil. He mistakes an old photo of Dan and leaves him. Dan and PJ commit suicide, Dan for feeling as if he has no life without Phil and PJ because he feels so guilty. Chris goes to live with Phil so to comfort each other. Rated M, trigger warning, 1,517 words.


Dan,

I wish now that I had listened to you. That I had believed you. I wish now that I could hold you like I did. That you could hold me also, giving me comfort. I wish and hope and pray, everyday that you might come back to me. Even if I know it is not possible.

I want you to come back to me, but you won't. You can't. Because of my foolishness.

If I had asked you about that stupid picture instead of just leaving, you might be sitting next to me, cuddled into my side as we watched a movie or something. But to me, it looked believable. Real. PJ was only trying to protect me. Protect me from future heartbreak when I could have opened the door and see you with another man. But I was too stupid to stop and think about it. Tell myself you wouldn't cheat on me.

But, me being me, I thought the picture was real. So I went home, packed my things and booked a flight for myself. I left you with nothing. Not a letter. Not a picture. Not a single thing of mine. Just a nearly empty room.

You got home just as I had left. And you went to look for me. You found me just as I was the last person to walk through the door to board my plane. "Phil please," you called. I remember turning, and seeing your broken face. I almost turned around and went back to you. Almost.

But I left anyway, leaving you crying in the airport alone. I left without a second thought. And I regret that.

A few months after I settled into a new, small flat, I saw you around a few times. I thought they were hallucinations, but I was wrong. It was you. You had came back for me. To look for me.

And when you were sure that you had found the right building, you climbed the stairs all the way to the top. You stood on the ledge, a large crowd forming beneath you. You waited. Waited until you saw my face before you gave any sign that you were even alive, even when we all knew you were then. You smiled softly down to me, the saddest of smiles.

And before I knew what I was doing, I was on the roof with you, standing at the door. "Dan," I breathed. "Dan come over here." I pleaded. But you stared at me, almost as if you weren't there."Why should I listen to you? You never did me." spoke your small, broken voice.

I took a step forward, wanting to pull you back and hold you in my arms so tightly it made it hard for you to breath. But you took a step back, putting your heel at the very edge. "Every step you take toward me is a step I take back."

I still remember the exact feeling that washed over me when I heard those words. The horrible, helpless feeling. "Dan please," I whispered to you, reaching my hand out. My lip trembled slightly, tears pricking my eyes. "Don't. I love you." "If you really loved me, you wouldn't have believed PJ."

"I'm sorry!" I shouted at you. So you took another small step back, making me take one forward. Which only led to you putting both heels over the edge.

"Dan," I whispered again, hoping it would make him think again. "I love you, I really do." "And I love you." you told me.

And then you fell. I ran towards the edge, hoping you caught yourself on something so I could grab you. But you didn't. You fell to the ground, killing you instantly. I sat on the roof and cried. Sobbed. I pulled myself into a ball and cried myself to sleep.

I woke up in PJ's bed. He was sitting on his chair, his legs pulled to his chest. He was staring at the ground, his eyes sad and cold. "Peej?" I murmured, my voice groggy and dry from sleep. He looked up, his eyes different than before. "You're probably wondering how you got here, right?" I nodded silently. "I heard of Dan's death, so I wanted to go look at where he died and where he jumped.." "And you being you, you did." He nodded. "And I found you asleep, so I took you back here." I only nodded at him.

My stay was short, staying for a few more hours before going back home. I did nothing for the rest of the day, just sitting on my couch and stared at the TV as if it were on. That week, I felt the strong feeling of depression settle within me, determined not to leave for a while.

And it didn't. I barely ate anything, most of the food going bad so that I had to throw it out. I tried so hard to keep in touch with PJ, knowing him, he'd feel the most guilty. But he would respond less than half the time. He slept more often. Got sickly skinny. Became more pale. Kept more to himself.

Chris stayed with him most nights, wanting to make sure he didn't do anything. Chris loved him with all that he had, PJ the same. Their relationship slowly drifted, PJ claiming that he didn't want to hurt Chris. But little did he know, Chris was already hurting because he wouldn't tell him a thing. A few weeks later, PJ committed suicide. He left a short letter, saying that he felt so guilty for Dan's death that he couldn't handle the voices in his head that taunted him everyday.

After the funeral, I moved back to London, claiming Dan's old flat that still hadn't been bought. Dan's things went to his family, leaving nothing behind. I put my stuff in my old room and stocked the pantry with canned food.

Soon, Chris came to live with me. He hated living alone now. He settled into Dan's old room, spending the day locked up in there so he could organize his things.

The next day, I was sitting in the living room, writing in my small book as I normally did. He came out and sat next to me, watching my pen move in my fingers. "Want to read it?" I asked him quietly. "If you wouldn't mind.." he replied softly. I finished my last sentence and handed it to him. I put the pen down and watched as he turned page by page, reading over the entries.

After a while, he gave it back. "Wow," was all he could say. "It helps. Writing stuff down. It helps the tiniest bit, but it still does." I replied quietly.

After a few days, Chris came home with his own journals, pens and pencils. He too began to write.

It became our daily routine; waking up, taking a shower, spending the day in the living room and writing, occasionally getting up to eat something. We both have gotten a bit skinnier. Not exactly feeling up to eating most of the time. We both try to help each other the best we can. Even if it comes down to a small hug.

Neither of us pay the internet or cable bills anymore. Sometimes the power bill. Our phones have been disconnected. The only thing we really pay for is the rent and water. We go out and buy loads of candles and lighters when we need them for light, but that's really the only thing we need.

When we go out, Chris clings to me like a scared child. If you took one glance at us, you would think we're another couple. But really, we both hold each other tightly, our fingers digging into whatever we're holding. If it's our waist, hands, arms, or shoulders, we still hold each other as if our lives depended on it.

At home, we've gotten closer. We know that the other is the last thing we really have for ourselves. We cuddle a lot on the couch. Just holding each other. We rarely sleep alone now. We either sleep in his room or mine if we don't fall asleep on the couch. We try to pretend that the other was our past lover, but it's still not the same. The way he holds my hand. The way he nuzzles into my body. The way he holds me in bed. How he comforts me.

It's all the same, yet completely different.

I've kissed him quite a few times. Sometimes even gone as far as sex. Those were the only times we were happy. When we were so overwhelmed in pleasure. And then we would act like nothing happened the next day. We act as if we're casual lovers, even if we aren't. We're just comforting each other the best we can.

Sometimes I wonder if you're around. You know, like a ghost.

I wonder what you do. I wonder if you're even reading this right now.

I wonder what you would think of me.


End file.
